Oh, My Friends, Be Warned By Me,

I Forget The Name Of The Place; I Forget The Name Of The Girl; But The Wine Was Chambertin.

The Tender Evenlode That Makes Her Meadows Hush To Hear The Sound Of Waters Mingling In The Brakes, And Binds My Heart To English Ground. A Lovely River, All Alone, She Lingers In The Hills And Holds A Hundred Little Towns Of Stone, Forgotten In The Western Wolds.

Wherever The Catholic Sun Doth Shine, There’s Always Laughter And Good Red Wine. At Least I’ve Always Found It So. Benedicamus Domino!

The Control Of The Production Of Wealth Is The Control Of Human Life Itself.

Here Richly, With Ridiculous Display, The Politician's Corpse Was Laid Away. While All Of His Acquaintance Sneered And Slanged I Wept: For I Had Longed To See Him Hanged.